


Enjolras and Grantaire and a Ballpit: A Love Story

by zimriya



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ballpits, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-07-22
Packaged: 2017-12-20 23:53:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/893377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zimriya/pseuds/zimriya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Courfeyrac manages to matchmake Grantaire and Enjolras by pushing Enjorlas headfirst into a bunch of colorful balls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enjolras and Grantaire and a Ballpit: A Love Story

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yallaintright](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yallaintright/gifts).



> People should not say things to me like “I really want to write this but" and show me videos like this and not expect to get fic.
> 
> Betaed by Murf, as always. All other mistakes are my own. This is the last thing I'm moving to AO3.

**Enjolras and Grantaire and a Ball Pit: A Love Story**

\--

To be completely fair (which Enjolras is not) you really could not blame Courfeyrac for throwing him into the ball pit.

(“You were annoying me,” Courfeyrac will later say, which Enjolras knows means, “I spaced out a few sentences ago and I didn’t want to deal with you getting pissy at me.” Enjolras has not figured out a way to get Courfeyrac to stop calling him ‘pissy,’ but he’s getting close; he’s relatively certain that he’ll either succeed, or end up with an apartment all to himself when Courfeyrac goes crying to Marius.)

But really, blame aside, when Courfeyrac turns to him and says, “Stop talking, you’re ridiculous,” and takes him under both arms and flings, all Enjolras is thinking is, “How can I kill him legally?”

And then he’s trying extremely hard not to die.

There isn’t anyone in the ball pit, luckily, so Enjolras is at least saved that indignity, but Courfeyrac isn’t the strongest person in the world, so instead of landing in the pit he sort of ends up face planting into it.

“Ow,” he complains, to the red ball in front of his nose. He lifts an arm towards Courfeyrac to try to flip him off, and only end sup upsetting his balance enough that he goes sliding slowly and painfully further into the box of balls. It’s easier to close his eyes and bear it, than to try flailing his way free. So a few seconds later, Enjolras emerges mostly unfazed, rubbing angrily at his cheek and swearing a little under his breath.

“Are you okay?” shouts Courfeyrac from the sidewalk. He looks concerned, with one hand resting around his chin and the other extended awkwardly in front of him. He also looks restless; like he can’t quite decide if fleeing is the best option.

Enjolras figures it’s only fair to enlighten him. “Fuck you!” he shouts back.

The concerned civilians around them stiffen, and Courfeyrac manages something of a laugh. “He’s okay!” he says loudly. “He’s totally okay you can all, um, go back to your business-- _Enjolras_?” he hisses.

Enjolras raises an eyebrow and tries crossing his arms. No one can see his arms, since he’s sunk a bit into the pit so that only his head is showing, but he figures the effects is the same.

Courfeyrac appears completely torn between survival and laugher. “Oh, unfair,” he says.

Enjolras keeps staring at him.

“No, but, I--” tries Courfeyrac. “Fine.” He sighs, pulls out his phone, and snaps a few photos of him. “Before you kill me think of it this way. This is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen in my life and it can be our new Christmas card!”

“What does me in a ball pit have to do with Christmas?” says Enjolras, scowling.

“No, stop scowling!” says Courfeyrac, loudly. “Christmas is about smiles!”

“We don’t even celebrate Christmas,” continues Enjolras. “Your horrible attempts at present games aside.”

Courfeyrac makes a mock wounded noise and fakes offense, and Enjolras’ lips twitch. He’s very quickly blinded by Courfeyrac’s flash.

“There we go!” says Courfeyrac. “Now to send this Eponine.” he says, brows pulling together as he does so.

Enjolras had started trying to get out of the ballpit, but stops. He knows as well as anyone that once Eponine has anything incriminating she’s never giving it back.

“I hate you,” he tells Courfeyrac, miserably. “I went three weeks without blackmail material.”

“Whoever told you that lied,” says Courfeyrac, not looking up from his phone. “Combeferre has a lovely photo of you sleeping in your cereal.”

“What?” says Enjolras.

Courfeyrac pauses to look at him. “Nothing,” he says sweetly. “Do you think Cosette wants one as well?”

“Do I think Marius’ girlfriend wants a picture of me in a ballpit?” repeats Enjolras.

Courfeyrac pulls the photo up and stares at it. “I don’t know,” he says, coming close to Enjolras to show him the picture. “You’re actually genuinely smiling, and I know at least two people who would pay good money for you smiling in a photo--”

“If you are talking about my parents I will kill you--”

“Also don’t pretend that Cosette is just ‘Marius’ girlfriend’ to you. Everyone knows that you like her--”

“If you do not give me that phone I will hurt you--” interjects Enjolras, reaching out of the ballpit and trying to get a hold on Courfeyrac.

“Hey, no, wait!” protests Courfeyrac. “It says _Take a Seat and Make a Friend_.”

He points at the sign above the ballpit, and Enjolras cranes his head around to read it, upside down. He doesn’t let go of Courfeyrac, who grins. Enjolras tightens his grip on his shirt and starts to _pull_ \--

“Augh--choking!” says Courfeyrac. “But see, we’re friends already, so--”

“We’re not,” says a voice.

Enjolras’ reply dies in his throat and he and Courfeyrac both turn to look at the newest addition.

The voice belongs to a guy, about their age, who has climbed up the stairs so that he can dangle his ratty, probably-once-white converses into the ballpit. There are tiny, intricate designs lining around the eyelets for the shoelaces. They’re also untied.

“Friends, I mean,” the guy continues when Enjolras’ eyes creep up his to snug skinny jeans and threadbare henley to meet his eyes. “So if you don’t mind…” The guy trials off, and slides into the ballpit next to Enjolras. Their legs bump. “Nice to meet you,” says the guy. “I’m Grantaire.”

He extends a hand to shake, and Enjolras lets go of Courfeyrac’s collar to take it. “Enjolras,” he says hesitantly. “Nice to meet you.” He gives their joined hands a quick shake; Grantaire’s fingers are calloused, like he play guitar, and there are faint cracks of clay lining under his nails.

“Grantaire,” Courfeyrac repeats. “I’m Coufeyrac. Nice to me-- _et you_ ,” he says, voice stuttering when Enjolras tightens his grip on his shirt. “Um,” he continues, sounding at a loss. “I’ll just be… going… then.”

Enjolras lets go of his shirt without looking at him, so that he can keep cataloguing the various flicks of blue in Grantaire’s eyes.

“So,” says Grantaire. “What brings you to this ball pit?” His lips twitch. “Besides your friend, over there.” He inclines his head, amused, and Enjolras finds himself nearly flushing despite himself.

“Oh, well, um,” he says, stumbling over the words despite himself. “We were heading to meet some friends, actually.”

He risks a glance over at Courfeyrac and finds his friend trying his hardest to look discrete while at the same time texting probably all of their friends.

“The friend he’s texting, to be honest,” Enjolras adds, sighing. “Can you at least be nice about it?” He calls the last bit louder so that Courfeyrac hears, and Courfeyrac doesn’t even look up.

“Shut up, you’re still holding hands,” he shouts back. “You’re not allowed to talk.”

Enjolras feels the back of his neck go hot, but when he goes to take his hand back, Grantaire tightens his fingers.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he says.

Enjolras raises an eyebrow. “Nothing,” he says finally. “I was thrown, which you saw.”

“Mmm,” says Grantaire. He lets his fingers trace up Enjolras’ palm before letting go, and the ensuing tingle is both embarrassing and pleasing.

“Why, uh,” says Enjolras. “What brings you to this ball pit?”

“Me?” says Grantaire. He rolls his shoulders back and Enjolras very pointedly doesn’t watch the way the move pulls his shirt across his chest.

“Erm,” he says. “Yeah, you.”

“You,” says Grantaire. “My turn.”

“Wait, what?” Enjolras tries to say, but Grantaire continues before he can.

“What’s the one thing you can’t live without?”

Enjolras blinks at him, not sure if he should be laughing or shaking his head. He does a bit of both. “Are we playing twenty questions?”

Grantaire just smirks at him. “Would that make you feel better, Apollo?”

Enjolras frowns. “What?” he says.

He’s interrupted by Courfeyrac taking another picture. “Don’t mind me!” he crows. “Only, Enjolras smiling and Enjolras wrinkling his nose in one day--I like you.”

He comes around to extend a hand to Grantaire, who takes it blinking. Courfeyrac hauls him in close to mutter something into his ear, and Enjolras sighs.

“This idiot, if you would believe it,” he tells Grantaire, getting somewhat stumblingly to his feet and climbing out of the ball pit. “To answer your question.”

Grantaire is looking at Courfeyrac with newfound respect, but he very quickly turns his head. “Oh,” he says, coloring slightly. “I’m sorry, are you two--”

“Are we what?” Enjolras tries to say at the same time Courfeyrac lets out a nervous sounding peal of laughter.

“Oh my god, no,” he says, loudly. “No, not at all--I mean I’m not--well, actually, _I am_ \--but not with _him_ \--not that there’s anything wrong with him per se, save, you know, a few work-a-holic tendencies by I have it on good authority that a healthy sex-life can cure that--” His jaw snaps shut and he eyes Enjolras, nervously. Enjolras stares back at him, daring him to keep talking. “Um,” says Courfeyrac.

“Yes?” says Enjolras.

“No,” says Courfeyrac. “The short and safe answer is no.”

Grantaire is looking between them curiously, but he doesn’t like quite so crestfallen anymore. He gets to his own feet and climbs out to stand next to Enjolras somewhat awkwardly. “That’s, um,” he says.

“What?” says Enjolras, trying for teasing and getting something a lot more accusing. He winces; Cosette is right--he really should work on that. “You’ve never had that kind of friendship with someone?”

Grantaire blinks. “Oh,” he says, sounding startled. “I mean, yes, of course.” He shakes his head. “My college roommate, Eponine--”

Courfeyrac makes a choking noise, and Enjolras shoots him a concerned look.

“I’m fine,” Courfeyrac rasps. “Carry on.” He starts to walk a few steps from the two of them, typing angrily into his phone, but Enjolras is more occupied with the way Grantaire is shaking his head at him.

“Eponine Thenadier?” he says, while Courfeyrac starts whispering angrily into his phone.

“Yeah,” says Grantaire. “You know her?” He sounds slightly confused, but mostly appears to be coming to some sort of conclusion.

“Mhmm,” says Enjolras. “We were actually on our way to meet her, actually,” he says. “She wanted to introduce us to her--” He pauses. “Courfeyrac…”

“I’m a little busy, Enjolras!” says Courfeyrac, covering his phone. He goes back to hissing angrily into it, before shutting it with a shout of, “I hope you rot in hell, ‘Ponine!”

Enjolras waits a beat. Grantaire waits with him.

“Um,” says Courfeyrac. “I don’t suppose we can forget that just happened?”

“I don’t know,” says Grantaire. “You just told the only thing in the world I can’t live without to rot in hell.” He folds his hands over his chest and gives Courfeyrac a long, hard, stare. “I might have to kill you.”

Enjolras steps in front of him. “Hold on,” he says. “You just threatened the one thing in the world _I_ can’t live without with death.” He stares Grantaire down, and Grantaire stares back. For a few, glorious seconds Courfeyrac does nothing but stare between the two of them, uncertain.

But then Enjolras’ lips twitch, and the corners of Grantaire’s eyes crinkle, and Courfeyrac scowls.

“You’re awful,” he says. “I regret the day Eponine every convinced me to set you guys up.”

Enjolras smirks at him. “What?” he says.

Courfeyrac scowls at him. “You’re a terrible human being,” he says. “I rue the day I ever met you.”

Grantaire reaches out and puts an arm around him to tug him in close, and Enjolras does the same. That his hands ends up brushing Grantaire’s collar every time they walk is a bonus; that it allows him to subtly lean in and inhale Grantaire’s hair is another.

“Also, you,” says Courfeyrac. “Of course this would be what you unites you. Pleasure at my pain.” He points at Enjolras. “One day I’m going to break you and we’re getting you a tattoo. It’s going to say ‘Schadenfreude’ in big, flowy script and have a giant heart and everyone you ever sleep with will look at it and say, why, Enjolras, what’s that? And you will have to explain that it is your one true calling and love.”

“That actually makes no sense,” says Enjolras.

Courfeyrac narrows his eyes at him. “Stop talking,” he says. “You are missing the point.”

Enjolras laughs at him, because how could he not, and very pointedly does not jump when Grantaire’s fingers find his own.

“I don’t know,” he says, quirking a brow and dragging Enjolras’ hand down off of Courfeyrac’s back to give it a squeeze. “You do seem like the type of person who--”

“Grantaire, buddy,” says Courfeyrac. “We may not know each other very well but I’m about to save your life. You will owe me for the end of your days.”

“Shut up,” says Enjolras, flushing, and letting go of Grantaire’s hands. “I’m capable of being reasonable.”

“Not about this, you aren’t,” says Courfeyrac. He is still grinning at Grantaire. “And forgive me for being cautious, but this is about as close to going on a date as you’ve gotten in years--”

“Hey!”

“--and I for one would like to have actual concrete data on the sex and work-a-holicness front.”

Enjolras opens and closes his mouth a few times, before starting walking. “That’s it, I’m leaving,” he says. “You coming, Grantaire?”

“Um,” says Grantaire, after a beat. “Are you going to--?” he breaks off, uncertain, and when Enjolras looks back, it’s to watch Courfeyrac shake his head at him, before nudging him in after him.

“Be good, Enjolras,” he calls. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

Enjolras snorts. “Ha ha,” he says. “That doesn’t leave me much, Courfeyrac,” he shouts. “Also, I don’t need your permission!”

“Permission to what, if you don’t mind my asking,” says Grantaire, from his side.

Enjolras blinks at him, suddenly startled.

“Not that I’m objecting,” Grantaire continues. “Only just, where are we going?”

“Oh, um,” says Enjolras. He can’t figure out what to do with his hands, and instead puts them in his pockets. “Wherever you like?”

“Well,” says Grantaire, reaching out to take hold of one of his hands and pulling it free of the denim to interlace with his own. “I had planned on meeting my college roommate in a bar, want to come?”

Enjolras looks down at their linked fingers, and grins. “You know, funnily enough, I was on my way to do the same.” He throws a look back at Courfeyrac, who is on the phone again a few feet behind them. “Well,” he amends. “One of them, at least. The saner one.”

Grantaire smiles back at him. “Perfect,” he says. “It’s a date.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes, but tightens his fingers, and lets Courfeyrac catch up with them to drag them off in the right direction.

(A few hours later, Courfeyrac comes to stand next to him at the bar, grinning. “So this worked out well,” he says.

Enjolras watches Grantaire best Feuilly at pool once again, and meets his eyes across the bar with a smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he tells Courfeyrac, not looking away. “We don’t agree about anything.”

Courfeyrac does something, probably, but Enjolras doesn’t notice, too caught up on the way Grantaire’s teeth catch on his bottom lip when he lines up the balls. “Uh-huh,” says Courfeyrac. “Keep telling yourself that.”

Enjolras punches him in the arm, laughing, before going to join Grantaire.)

 --

The End.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://zimriya.tumblr.com/).


End file.
